Skyrim's Most Wanted
by JuicyWizard
Summary: Arlen Shadowcloak has finally joined the Thieves' Guild, and will stop at nothing to make money. NOTE: If you want to start at the beginning of Arlen's journey, I suggest you read The Legendary Arlen Shadowcloak first, as this story is the sequel to that one.
1. Chapter 1

It's finally here! _Skyrim's Most Wanted_ , the sequel to _The Legendary Arlen Shadowcloak._ I don't know how many people have been waiting for this, if any, but here it is.

/\

Arlen stepped forward, and cursed as he trod on a dry stick. In the near silence, a guard heard him. He raised his torch and walked toward him. Arlen jumped forward and broke the guard's neck, then dragged him between two houses. From there, Arlen stripped of his burlap prisoner's tunic and donned the guard's armor. His equipment was in the guard's barracks right next to the Whiterun gate. Once he got it, escape would be child's play. He made his way to the barracks, opened the door, and walked in. Just inside the door was the prisoner belongings chest. Arlen's luck held as he found keys on his belt. Then his luck gave as a guard abandoned his patrol to sit right next to the chest. He would have to bluff his way through this one.

"Prisoner release."

The guard's response was like music to Arlen's ears. "Don't care."

"Alright, then." Arlen opened the chest, and saw that the only belongings inside were his. He pulled them out, starting with Mehrunes' Razor, and stabbed the guard. He then dropped the guard's clothes he was wearing and put on his brown boiled leather Thieves' Guild armor. Arlen took one last look around to make sure he wasn't seen, and burst out of the guard's barracks and Whiterun. From there, escape was only a bowshot away. He sprinted down the path, ignoring the shouts and arrows that followed him, and didn't stop running until he passed Helgen and entered the Rift. Even then, he only stopped because he saw a huntress on horseback. He jumped up, slit her throat, and took the horse. From there, he managed to get some half-asleep rest and let the horse do the running. When the horse stepped in a hole and broke its leg, Arlen jumped off, shook himself awake, and continued his run. The Rift was the only hold in Skyrim he wasn't wanted in, but it had been reported that Whiterun guards would chase escaped prisoners all the way to Markarth. And so, Arlen didn't stop until he entered the Ratway and collapsed across the bar.

Already, Arlen could see the changes he'd been making. He'd put off the Goldenglow job, and instead started doing jobs for Vex and Delvin Mallory. The coin these jobs had brought in had served a good purpose. The Ratway, even if it was a sewer, was clean, with Thieves' Guild banners up all over the place, a massive stock of mead and ale behind the bar, and even an armory built into several of the coves around the central cistern. Before, this place had been very aptly named. It was a rat-filled shit hole. Now, it was a functional Thief's base. When Arlen finally regained his breath, he stood and approached Delvin.

"Your job's done. I need another."

Delvin beamed at him uncharacteristically. "Aren't any left, I'm afraid. You've done everything we need to get this place back up and running. We're back on the map, and getting new recruits all the time. Good work."

"I'm glad you could help, lad," Brynjolf approached Arlen from behind. "I truly am. But while you've been having your little thief party, Aringoth has nearly finalized the sale of Goldenglow Estate. He's also tripled his guard by hiring mercenaries. The place is swimming with them. Mercer's impatience has nearly sent the entire Guild in to stop them. Are you finally going to get on it?"

"Of course, Brynjolf. I was previously unaware of the troubling proceeds at the Estate. Burn three hives, was it?"

"And only three," Brynjolf agreed.

"Then I'm off."

/\

Arlen approached the gate casually, still disguised in his nobleman's clothes. Of course, he'd prepared for a swift battle-readiness. The right side of the tunic was sewn with grass, long dead by now. It would tear in half a heartbeat, and then Arlen's armor, and in turn his true intents, would be revealed.

"Hold there!" a mercenary called from a tower near the gate. "Who are you?"

"A representative."

"Of whom?"

"Of your buyer."

The mercenary laughed. "No. The buyer always comes themselves, and works alone. You're no representative. Unless you have another reason for me to unlock the gate, begone!"

"So you have the key?"

"Of course I have the key! Now, last warning! Begone!"

Arlen smiled, and tore his bow from beneath his tunic. The mercenary had just enough time to pull out his own bow before Arlen's arrow slammed into his shoulder. The force behind the arrow spun the mercenary around so he fell from the tower. Arlen tore off his nobleman's tunic and put on his cowl, then took the gate key from the fallen archer. Nobody seemed to notice, which was exactly why Arlen used an ebony bow and arrows. They were, of course, ebony black, even the shafts and fletching. They were nearly impossible to see in the night sky, and only slightly less difficult during the day. If he'd used standard steel arrows, the shining head, light shaft, and bright orange fletching would be plain to see.

Once he unlocked the gate, Arlen slipped into the Goldenglow courtyard and melted into the shadows beneath the guard tower. From there, he examined the estate. It consisted of three islands. The one on the left had the beehives, the one just ahead had the house. All of them had small guard shelters with chairs and barrels of something. Arlen took out three specially made arrows, lit their tips on fire, and shot at the beehives. Each arrow went out at the top of its arc, and Arlen's heart sank. Then they all slammed into a beehive, and reignited. From there, it was only seconds before they were burned to the ground. Three mercenaries ran from the house island to investigate, and they were all killed as well.

Only difference: Arlen didn't kill them.

/Jo'Nir\

The wizard in the shadows was impressed by the newcomer's stealth, but it was nothing compared with the spell of invisibility combined with the natural stealth of a Khajiit. Of course, the rogue's fighting skill was unmatchable by Jo'Nir, but with his magic skill, the Khajiit wouldn't need any battle-readiness. If he...

Jo'Nir's thoughts trailed off as he realized he couldn't see the rogue anymore. The three mercenaries were still on the ground with lightning burns, nothing different there. Three beehives smoldering, the same. Four more mercenaries on the way, just as it was before. But the hooded one was gone. It wasn't possible that the rogue had seen the source of the lightning spell?

But Jo'Nir's heart was doomed to sink as he found a blade at his invisible throat.

"Up."

Jo'Nir closed his eyes, let the invisibility fade, and shook his head.

"Alright," the quiet voice said. Jo'Nir suddenly found himself on his feet, standing upright, with his eyes closed and his shoulder in massive pain. When he opened his eyes, he found that everything had changed.

Seven mercenaries on the ground, four more than before. Three beehives completely burned to the ground, no chance of being saved. No mercenaries approaching. A hooded figure in front of him, steadying him via the shoulders.

"How...?"

"No, no," the hooded man said. "The question is _who._ Who are you and why are you here?"

Jo'Nir, still not thinking straight, answered without hesitation or deception. "Jo'Nir, from the College."

"What college, Jo'Nir?" The hooded man pronounced the strange Khajiit name surprisingly perfectly.

"The Mage's College in Winterhold."

"And why are you here?"

"I was to collect domesticated bees and honey for an experiment."

"Well, there may be a stress factor on the remaining bees and heat damage on the honey." the hooded man pointed out.

"That's true!" Jo'Nir said, surprised that the rogue understood the basics of magic experimentation. "We'll have to-"

The rogue cut in, so they said the next part in unison. "find a new domesticated hive."

"Although," the rogue said, "you won't be the one to do it, Jo'Nir." With that, the hooded man raised his dagger and stepped forward.

/Arlen\

Arlen cut the Khajiit down, even more easily than he'd killed the mercenaries. Now the only remaining part of his infiltration was stealing the Goldenglow bill of sale and destroying it, and capturing the gold from the safe. And, if Aringoth got in his way, he would have to kill the owner of the estate. Arlen jogged across the wooden bridge to the main building, slinking through the back door silently.

Once inside, Arlen took a look around. Before he even processed what he saw, though, he noticed that the temperature had soared. That meant a lot of torches, candle sconces, and bodies. There was a corridor straight ahead, and one to the right. According to the run-down he'd been given by Vex, straight ahead was the way to go. He stalked forward, still silent, and peeked around a corner to the left. The swift look revealed a larger room, with two doorways leading from it. One led to a mercenary in a chair, and the other led to a dining area. Arlen snuck toward the mercenary, but suddenly panicked and nearly fell backward. There was another man, just to the left of the doorway, leaning against the wall. Arlen made a split-second decision and turned back to the dining area. Most Thieves' Guild members didn't kill, and Arlen planned to blend in with them. More bodies meant more evidence, which conflicted with Arlen's resolution to remain as anonymous as possible during his time in the Guild.

On the other side of the dining area, Arlen found what he was looking for. A wooden staircase up to his left, a steel cage door leading to downward stairs to his right. The right would lead to the cellar and the safe, the left to Aringoth's quarters. Only one mercenary stood in his way, and he would bleed just the same as the ones outside. Arlen killed him, made another split-second decision, and crept up the stairs on the left.

Immediately on the other side of the door, Arlen smiled. A purse sat on a table, tipped over and spilling gold coins. He dumped the purse into his Bag, and looked around the room. A few more coins sat on another table, not worth taking. A keg of mead or ale was set up on a bar, with a few tankards around. Arlen took a drink, and kept his tankard in his hand. It was made of a heavy metal, and could come in handy.

Arlen thought back to Vex's run down, and took a left, right, and another left turn, finding himself in a long corridor. At the end of it was a mercenary, facing slightly away from Arlen. He took the metal tankard in his left hand, opting to knock the man unconscious instead of killing him. Probably inexperienced in battle, the mercenary crumpled to the floor after one strike with the tankard. Another left turn brought Arlen to another long hallway, which he took straight forward to the end. He took yet another left turn here, and found the doorway to Aringoth's quarters on the right. He walked through it, hit another mercenary, and opened the chamber doors.

The quarters were of good quality. Low tables and tall shelves stood everywhere. On one was a golden statue of a bee, which Arlen knew Delvin would like to buy off him. If not him, definitely Tonilia. He stepped forward to take it, then tilted his head. He heard a soft metallic sound, and recognized it instantly. It was the sound of an Elvish arrowhead coming to rest on an Elvish bow when it reached full draw. He dove forward, and Aringoth's arrow thudded into a table leg. Even as a High Elf, Aringoth's archery skill was exemplary. Alas, Arlen's was better still. Before Aringoth could even draw another arrow, Arlen had drawn his bow and an arrow and fired it. The slender arrowhead pierced Aringoth's throat before he even knew it had been fired. In a few seconds, Aringoth slumped to the ground and let the key to his safe slip from his limp fingers.

Arlen took the key, then crept back to the stairs. From there, it was an easy task to slink silently into the cellar. The only thing in the way now was a puddle of spilled lamp oil and two mercenaries. It was only a second before Arlen managed to get a spark from his flint and steel, lighting the oil and the mercenaries on fire. An easy task, then, to find Aringoth's safe, empty it, and flee the estate through the sewer.

/\

Back in the headquarters, Arlen approached Mercer Frey.

"Found the buyer's signature. Well," Arlen added as Mercer perked up. Not really a signature as this odd symbol." Arlen handed him the bill.

"Hmm." Mercer Frey thought for a moment. "Never seen this before, but Gulum-Ei I have heard of." Mercer referred to a name on the bill of sale. "But, I'm getting ahead of myself. More dangerously, I'm getting ahead of Maven Black-Briar. She asked to see you. If I were you, I wouldn't dawdle."

/\

Arlen arrived at Maven Black-Briar's side in minutes, and walked with her down the street.

"As you know, a new meadery has opened near Whiterun. Its owner, Sabjorn, opened it in a mere two days. I need to find out how, and sabotage him. That is where you come in. Meet my contact at the Bannered Mare, name of Mallus Maccius. He'll fill you in."

With that, Arlen set off.

Once Arlen mounted Shadowmere, it was a swift ride to Whiterun. As he leaped from the saddle and opened the gates, Shadowmere seemed to disappear. The Bannered Mare was at the end of the main road, so Arlen continued in a jog until he found himself face-to-face with Mallus Maccius.

"Good, you're here. I thought perhaps-"

Arlen interrupted him. "Just tell me what Maven needs me to do."

Mallus gave him an annoyed look, but told him anyway.

/\

Arlen nodded at Sabjorn, accepting his instructions. He was to go into the cellar and the skeever tunnel dug off it, and poison the skeever nest with Sabjorn's formula. It would be simple, so long as he kept to the shadows. With luck, the tunnel would lead him to his real prize. Arlen strolled silently down the stairs, though he wasn't trying to sneak. The second he reached the cellar, he heard skeevers. They seemed to be coming from everywhere, but he soon realized there were only three of them at the moment. Instead of stab at them like he normally would, Arlen simply waited for them to be in a group, and drew breath.

"RAAN MIR TAH!" The skeevers looked up, but didn't attack, as the shout impacted on them. They stalked to Arlen's heel, and he continued to stalk toward the tunnel. The skeevers perked up, smelled the air, and charged forward. Arlen followed them, and soon came across a beast fight. His three skeevers were dancing around seven more, nipping at them and trying to attack their weaknesses. One of the seven died, then one of Arlen's. Next, two more of the remaining six died. Suddenly, the last two of Arlen's skeevers stopped, and looked as confused as a skeever can look. They were killed in their confusion, leaving four hostile skeevers in a group. Arlen's Shout had worn off. He stepped forward with his dagger, ignoring the fact that the skeevers saw him. They would be dead in a second anyways. With only two swipes of his dagger, Arlen slaughtered the four skeevers. He found his way to another tunnel, and identified the telltale signs: Thick-spun webs, dead skeevers hanging from the ceiling, eggs. There were frostbite spiders somewhere ahead. Hopefully not too large.

Regardless of size, Arlen sheathed Mehrunes' Razor and pulled out his ebony bow. Soon, he turned a corner and spotted two spiders, nearly as tall as him. He snapped of two arrows, and the force drove the spiders back several paces. He wasn't done yet, though. Three more spiders appeared from the gloom: one the same size as the two dead ones, one smaller, and one half a meter taller than Arlen. Three more arrows streaked from Arlen's bow, and dropped two of the spiders. The largest one took the arrow without even a stagger, though. Arlen fired once more, but the spider saw him, now. It used one of its long, clawed forelimbs to cut the arrow aside, then charged at Arlen, using its massively long stride and exceptional speed to close the distance in a second. From there, it tried to use its forelimbs to pull Arlen into its enormous mandibles, but Arlen managed to get out of the way and draw Mehrunes' Razor. As soon as he did, he felt his hood being pulled off. The leather string that the hood had been sewn to the armor with tore, and the spider guided the hood to its mouth. Arlen rolled sideways as the spider attacked again, slicing off one of its claws. It reared back, turned, and lunged. Arlen tried to slice off the other claw, but it flicked it out of the way and came in for an old-fashioned bite. Arlen waited for its mandibles to open, then dove past them and stabbed forward with all his might. The spider reared again, then went limp as Arlen's blade found its brain. He tore his blade from its brain, then continued in his search for the skeever nest. Only one more tunnel, and Arlen stepped on something. His reflexes took over, but he wasn't sure it was enough. He cut his boot, dropped a spare dagger next to his foot, and dove forward. The dagger intercepted one side of the bear trap, just in time, and the other side just caught the boot before Arlen slipped out of it. Now one-booted and hoodless, Arlen walked around a second bear trap and came to a tripwire. Using Mehrunes' Razor, Arlen cut the tripwire. A spiked ball on a chain fell from the cave ceiling, and Arlen deflected it. It buried itself in the sandy wall, allowing Arlen to stalk past. Through another tunnel he found a cavern, larger than the rest by far. Three skeevers slunk through the murk and fog gathered at the bottom of the cave, and a larger shape moved on the other side of the cave from Arlen. It looked like a troll from here.

Arlen kept low to the ground, concealed by the fog, and killed the three skeevers. As one fell, though, the fog was disturbed. The troll turned around as it parted, and saw the body. That was when Arlen saw that it was no troll. It was a man, just hunched over. He straightened, and ran forward to the dead skeever. Arlen jumped out of cover to stab him, but the man was fast and perceptive. He dodged sideways, leaving Arlen to roll to his feet. Before he even turned around, Arlen was hit by a bolt of lightning that sent him reeling. He managed to get behind something before two more bolts streaked past, and pulled out his bow. The mage appeared, ready to shoot more lightning, but Arlen shot first. The man's throat erupted in red, and his spell discharged upward. Arlen ran past him to the skeever nest, which he had seen a moment ago. He dumped half of Sabjorn's formula into it, then moved on through another tunnel. From there, he found himself in a similar cellar, but knew he hadn't taken a full circle. He must be near the brewery.

When Arlen opened the door across from him, he found that he was in the brewery. He climbed a vat, and poured the rest of the poison into it before climbing back down and opening the front door. Sabjorn came in as he was leaving.

"Killed the skeevers? Good. Now I just have to fill this keg for the captain..."

Sabjorn was holding a mead tasting for the captain of the Whiterun Guard. The poison would certainly ruin Sabjorn's life, and perhaps end that of the captain.

Arlen waited for Sabjorn to catch up, then followed him into the meadery. There, Mallus Maccius and the captain were waiting. In only a moment, the captain had downed three tankards of the poisoned mead. Just when Mallus and Arlen became worried that Sabjorn had filled it with the wrong vat, the captain collapsed. His two personal guards drew their blades and escorted Sabjorn out, leaving only the dead captain and the two conspirators.

"I don't think that could have gone any better." Mallus said.

Arlen cut right to the chase. "I need a look at Sabjorn's books. Maven needs to know how he managed to get up and running so quickly."

"Alright, then." Mallus handed Arlen a key and gave him directions.

/\

Having finished the job and gotten paid for it, Arlen returned to Mercer Frey.

"Now, what were you saying about Gulum-Ei?"

"Gulum-Ei? I've heard that before... Ah. Quite the memory you've got. Yes, I think our worthy adversary is slipping. Gulum-Ei, the name on the Goldenglow bill of sale, is an alias for a certain contact in Solitude. He may be able to give us some information about this wealthy foe. I want you to go to the Winking Skeever in Solitude and find him. He may call himself _Gajul-Lei_ instead of Gulum-Ei. Don't let him convince you. His true name is Galum-Jei. If you throw that name at him, he's sure to listen."

"Understood," Arlen said, and turned to leave.

"One more thing: Do not kill Gulum-Ei. I think you can guess what'll happen if you do."

"No reward?"

"No," Mercer Frey said. "You'll get a reward: Termination from the Guild, and the face of Nirn."


	2. Chapter 2

Arlen walked into Solitude. He was dressed in the armor of a Solitude guardsman over his Thieves' Guild armor. Nobody gave him a second glance when he walked into the Winking Skeever, or when he dropped his full-face guard's helmet into a pot of soup passing by. One guard looked at him when his helmet came off, and approached with his hand on his sword hilt. Arlen found an Argonian in the corner and approached.

"Gajul-Lei?" Arlen asked.

The Argonian looked up. "No."

Arlen hesitated, and pretended to look at a piece of parchment. "Ah. Gulum-Ei, then? Can never get you Khajiit or Argonian names right." Arlen feigned the general ignorance of a regular guard.

"Yes, I am Gulum-Ei." The Argonian looked up. "Have I done something wrong?" He cocked his head in... contempt, perhaps, but Arlen, as an assassin, thief, and former Goldentongue merchant, saw the truth. The small flare of color beneath Gulum-Ei's scales, the flared nostrils, and the twitch in the lip showed Arlen guilt. He knew he'd done something wrong, and when Arlen appeared in the guise of a guardsman, Gulum-Ei thought he'd been caught.

"Perhaps. That may depend on whether you know who bought Goldenglow Estate."

Gulum-Ei showed the telltale signs again. "No."

Arlen chuckled softly. "Don't try to lie to a former merchant or current thief, son. It won't work." Arlen now feigned condescension. "You know who bought it, and now I need to, as well."

"I don't know. So if we're done-" Gulum tried to stand up.

"But we're not done, Galum-Jei." And Arlen pushed him forcefully back into his chair, which slid back several inches.

"What?" Galum-Jei looked up with fear, nervousness, and a momentary flare of annoyance.

"I said, we're not done. I need someone to give me some answers, and I was told that Galum-Jei was the one to do it. I was also told that he would try unsuccessfully to convince me his name was Gajul-Lei or Gulum-Ei. So, Galum-Jei, how about you live up to your reputation?"

Galum-Jei now looked panicked. "Not here," he said urgently, looking up at the approaching guard. "Meet me at the entrance to the East-Empire trading company, below the city." With that, Galum-Jei stood and ran out of the Winking Skeever.

Arlen turned to the guard. "What do you want?"

The guard looked taken aback. "I know you. You're wanted in... well, in Skyrim. Now that I think of it, you're the one who killed-" He was about to say "the Emperor," but Arlen couldn't have that. He stepped forward, ripped a fatigue poison from his Bag of Collecting, and dumped it into the guard's mouth. The man collapsed on the ground, and Arlen turned around to leave.

/\

"You must have quite the influence, if these East-Empire guards ignore you," Arlen commented.

"I do," Galum said.

"Alright, then where are we going?"

Galum smiled. "Down."

"But..." Arlen said, "All that's down is water."

"Okay," Galum said. "Here's how this will go down. I'm going into a system of caves under this place. I have dozens of bandits down there under my command. You will follow me, if I know Mercer Frey as well as I did a year ago. My bandits won't know you from the next man, so they will attack. Meanwhile, I'll be exploiting my gills underwater on my way to my base. I won't help you, because if you get killed I won't have to tell you anything. Just go down those stairs when you wake up."

Galum pointed at a set of wooden stairs leading under the docks. Before Arlen processed that he'd said "when you wake up," Galum had smashed him in the face with a steel ladle and rolled him under a shelf.

/Galum-Jei\

Galum-Jei was panicking. This thief had infiltrated his mental defenses with his real name, which could not be revealed to the public. So, Galum had no choice other than to hide behind an army of bandits. As he climbed from the underground spring's water and into his base of operations, he knew the thief had awoken. Suddenly, a yell sounded, then all was quiet. A splash. A crunch, and a thud, all getting closer. Finally, there was another splash and Galum saw a hooded figure charging toward him. Three bandits moved to intercept the man.

The hood rolled under a mace, and came up with a dagger. The second bandit crumpled. Next, the hood jumped and spun about the neck of the third bandit with his leg, and landed on the first with his dagger. Finally, he jumped into a backflip, ended up behind the third bandit, and slit his throat.

"Ready to talk, or do I have to kill you, too?" The hood asked.

"Now, there's no need to do anything rash!" Galum-Jei said hastily. "This isn't as bad as it seems! I was going to tell Mercer about everything, just... please, he'll have me killed!"

The hood raised his wicked dagger, pretending to buff a nonexistent nick out of the already razor-sharp blade.

"No! No! You don't need to-"

The hood lowered the knife to his waist and stepped forward.

"KARLIAH! THE NAME IS KARLIAH!" Galum-Jei cowered before the hood, but realized that he hadn't been stabbed. He looked down and saw the dagger's point hovering a mere centimeter away from his ribs, and a slightly confused look on the face under the hood.

"Karliah?"

"Mercer never told you about her? She was responsible for the murder of the previous Guild Master, Gallus. Now she's readying to go after Mercer."

"And you've been helping her with this?"

"Help? No! I didn't know who she was until after we'd finished our dealings. Please! You have to believe me!"

"And where is she now?"

"I don't know. I asked her where she was going and she just muttered: 'Where the end began'."

/Arlen\

"No..." Mercer said. "I haven't heard that name in decades. I had hoped never to cross paths with her again."

Arlen opened his mouth to speak, but Mercer continued. "Karliah and I were partners. We were together on every heist. I know her skills, her techniques. If I'm killed, nobody here will be able to catch her. If only we knew where she was..."

"Where the end began," Arlen said.

"Why didn't you tell me that before? I know exactly where she is."

/\

Mercer approached the old nordic door to the Snow Veil Sanctum, muttering. "They say these burial mounds are impenetrable. This one doesn't look too difficult. Quite simple, really, I don't know what the fuss is about these locks. All it takes is a bit of know-how and a lot of skill." After only a moment, Mercer had the door unlocked. "There we are. After you."

Arlen nodded and opened the door. As soon as he did, Mercer let loose a complaint. "Smells of death." Arlen rolled his eyes and slunk down the stairs beyond the door. At the bottom of the stairs was a sharp right turn, leading to a circular room with a pillar in the center. Arlen peeked around the pillar and saw another set of stairs leading further down. At the bottom of those stairs was another circular room, with a still-burning fire on one side. Two sarcophagi were kicked open, and draugr shambled out. Arlen cut them both down, not leaving anything for Mercer. Through another doorway were three more sarcophagi, but only one had a draugr in it. Arlen's dagger descended on the corpse's throat, and it didn't get up. Across the room was a chain, with a portcullis-door next to it. Arlen approached the chain, fully aware of the wall of spikes that would hit him when he pulled it. As a result, he pulled the chain, and dove toward the door as it opened. Arlen's diving form slipped under the door as soon as it was open enough to do so, and neither he or Mercer were hit by the spike wall.

Another turn, and Arlen came across a labyrinth of shelves, full of draugr who wouldn't reawaken. A few of them would, but they were dealt with before they could. Behind one of the draugr that Arlen killed was a pull chain, which opened another portcullis-door. Down some more stairs was a left turn, which revealed a clever trap. The square room was bordered with at least a dozen sarcophagi, all with draugr in them. From the ceiling hung dozens of bone chimes, that would rattle noisily if even touched. Mercer started to warn Arlen, but stopped. As they crept past them at maddeningly slow speeds, the bone chimes swung back and forth. The silence was deafening. Another portcullis-door was opened, a right turn and some stairs, and Arlen found himself in a large, half-collapsed cavern with a dozen draugr already awake. Arlen drew his ebony bow and dropped every draugr in the room with an arrow each. After they fell, Arlen ascended some stairs and took a model ship from a pedestal. Delvin would want that. The pedestal was a pressure plate, of course, so Arlen dove and rolled out of the way of falling oil lamps so as to not be burned alive. Up a different set of stairs, Arlen found one more draugr and some skeevers, who died within seconds. Only a minute longer, and Arlen saw a door leading further into the Snow Veil Sanctum.

Several more draugr got in the way, but were instantly cut out of it. After a few more stairs and some more twists and turns, Arlen entered a wide, circular tunnel with a door at the other end. He opened the door carefully, but it didn't help. Several urns were knocked over by the opening door, and it awakened draugr further in the large room. These weren't as easily dispatched. Arlen had to use his combat acrobatics more than he had in weeks. They died, though, and Arlen was satisfied. Behind the raised platform which the draugr came from was a Word Wall. As Arlen read the wall, he learned the third word of the Shout Disarm. He'd been searching for that wall for ages. Through another tunnel, Arlen finally found their unsurpassable obstacle. A Dragon Claw door in the Hall of Stories. Without the claw, they couldn't open the door. And Karliah no doubt had that claw, otherwise she wouldn't be in their either. He sheathed his dagger and fell to his knees with dread. All of that, and they still couldn't catch Karliah.

Mercer approached from behind Arlen. "Ah, it's one of the infamous Nordic puzzle doors." Arlen nodded, still crestfallen. Mercer spoke again, coming to the same conclusion Arlen had. "Without the matching claw, their normally impossible to open. And since I'm certain Karliah already did away with it, we're on our own."

Arlen was amazed that Mercer could be so calm about that, but also intrigued. It seemed he was indicating that he could pick the lock and open the door without the claw.

"Fortunately, these doors have a weakness, if you know how to exploit it. Quite simple, really. I'll walk you through it." Mercer stepped back. "Turn the top ring to a bird, then the second." Arlen did. "Remember, it's always the largest one, with wings. Eagle, dragon, even butterfly, if it's the only one with wings. Right, now the last one, but place a finger in the bottom slot of the lock while you do. Don't flinch, now." Arlen placed his thumb into the bottom slot of the lock, and twisted the bottom ring to a bird. his thumb was pricked, but he didn't flinch. Finally, a piston pushed his thumb out of the slot and the door opened.

"Karliah is close, I'm certain of it. Now let's get moving." Arlen walked through the door, and heard a familiar sound. A flick, a muffled crack, and a whistle. Everything seemed to slow down. Arlen drew Mehrunes' Razor, and saw a glass arrow flying toward him, with drops of red poison being flung out behind it. He knew that the arrow was to strike his heart, but he didn't let it. As it neared him, Arlen slashed downward, shearing the point off the arrow. The shaft was angled down, and buried itself in his gut. The poisoned arrowhead clinked to the ground. Arlen knew that the arrow was meant to kill him, so he fell back and feigned that death.

Mercer walked in, without even drawing his sword. A dark elf appeared from behind a pillar with a bow and approached Mercer. "Do you honestly think your arrow will reach me before my blade finds your heart?" Mercer asked.

 _I hope not,_ Arlen thought.

"Give me a reason to try," the Dunmer said, reaching for an arrow.

"You're a clever girl, Karliah; buying Goldenglow Estate and funding Honningbrew Meadery was inspired."

Karliah put away her bow, and put on an expression of sadness. "'To ensure an enemy's defeat, you must first undermine his allies.' It was the first lesson Gallus taught us."

Mercer grinned wolfishly. "You always were a quick study."

Karliah's expression turned to pain, which Arlen could relate to at the moment what with the splintered arrow shaft destroying his insides. "Not quick enough, otherwise Gallus would still be alive."

"Gallus had his wealth, and he had you. All he needed to do was look the other way."

"Did you forget the Oath we took as Nightingales?" That comment, if none of the rest of the conversation, got Arlen's attention. He'd heard stories about the Nightingales, the legendary servants of the Daedric Goddess Nocturnal. "Did you expect him to simply ignore your methods?"

"Enough of this mindless banter! Come, Karliah. It's time for you and Gallus to be reunited!" Arlen suddenly grew angry as he realized what that conversation was about. Mercer was the villain here. He had killed Gallus, just to take over the guild and horde all of its riches for himself. Now he was killing the only other person who knew of this and could stop him.

"I'm no fool, Mercer." There was a flash of purple light, and Karliah was gone. "Crossing blades with you would be a death sentence. But I can promise that the next time we meet, it will be your undoing."

Mercer sheathed his blade and turned to Arlen. "How interesting. It seems Gallus's history has repeated itself. Karliah has provided me with the means to be rid of you, and this tomb becomes your final resting place. But do you know what intrigues me the most? The fact that this was all possible because of you. Farewell. I'll be certain to give Brynjolf your regards." Mercer drew his sword again, letting it fall lazily at his side. Arlen wasn't unable to fight, not in the least. But Mercer didn't know that. He raised the blade slowly, then slammed it downward. Much to his dismay, though, Arlen's neck wasn't there anymore. Instead, Mercer found himself face-to-face with his attempted murder victim, with a poisoned arrow head buried in the network of veins in the crook of his elbow.

"Or maybe I'll give him yours," Arlen said, and pushed Mercer to the ground. Surely the poison wasn't deadly in itself, though, and Mercer may not die. And so, as Arlen didn't want to try his luck against the skilled swordsman Mercer was, he ran out of the sanctum, arrow shaft still burning in his gut. Once outside, he saw Karliah mourning her dead horse. That was his last sight as he collapsed from blood loss.

/\

Arlen awakened, and found himself on a bedroll. He shot to his feet, feeling as though he'd never been wounded his whole life.

"Easy, easy. Don't get up so quickly."

Arlen whirled around to find Karliah approaching him.

"You shot me!" Arlen yelled, but he didn't draw a weapon. From what he'd learned in the sanctum, she wasn't to kill him.

"Well, yes. I was under the impression that you were one of Mercer's lackeys, brainwashed into thinking I was the villain. Granted, my original plan was to use that arrow on Mercer. See, it had a paralytic poison on it, which would have slowed Mercer's heart and put him out of action. Then I would have brought him to justice for killing Gallus. Instead, I tried to get you out of the way. It worked, but your incredible reflexes saved your life. How did you manage that?"

"I know the sound of a bow when I hear it. I knew that an arrow was on the way, so I resolved to cut it out of the air. It's not a difficult task."

"You don't know how quickly the arrows fly from this bow. It was a difficult task, trust me. Shame the poison was wasted, though."

"It wasn't. I stabbed Mercer with the severed head."

"Did you?" Karliah's eyes widened, then narrowed again. "No, no. Even if the remaining poison had taken effect, he's certainly recovered and fled by now. Here. This is Gallus's journal, but it's encoded. I need you to take it to a man in Winterhold by the name of Enthir. He can translate the journal."

"And you're just going to trust me with it?"

"You stabbed Mercer, didn't you? Now go. Time is of the essence."

She said it with such command and faith in him that Arlen nodded quickly and set off toward Winterhold.

/\

"This language is unknown to me," Enthir apologized. "If you want Falmer translated, there is only one man to go to. He's on the other side of Skyrim."

"Trust me," Arlen said, "I'll have no trouble traversing Skyrim. Just tell me who."

"Calcelmo, in Markarth."

Arlen left the inn basement and found Shadowmere waiting for him. He mounted up, and also found Cicero at his elbow.

"Nice of you to return, Cicero." Arlen said. "Markarth's the destination, so get there." With that, Arlen kicked Shadowmere into a gallop. Cicero managed to keep pace for about thirty seconds before he slowed and fell behind, leaving Arlen to fly over the snow-covered land alone.

It was only a few minutes before Shadowmere saw a runnel in the land, and it filled with inky black liquid. Shadowmere slowed to a canter, and dove into the liquid. Arlen found himself in a shadowy recreation of the world, only about a hundredth the size. Shadowmere crossed to Markarth hold in a step or two, and Arlen saw the underside of another black mere above. Shadowmere leaped upward and climbed out, and Arlen found himself, and Shadowmere, just outside Markarth. The black liquid soaked into Arlen's armor, then disappeared altogether. Shadowmere rode up to the gates of Markarth, and Arlen dismounted. As he opened the doors, Arlen walked toward the keep. There he would find Calcelmo.

"Wait," a guard said, "I know you."

Arlen looked up, inviting his Goldentongue back for the first time in a year. "No, you don't."

"Hm." The guard looked confused. "Maybe I was thinking of someone else."

"Yes," Arlen said, "you were." And he continued toward the keep. Meanwhile, Cicero appeared at his elbow.

"How'd you get here so fast?" Arlen asked, amazed.

"Didn't Astrid show you? It's the same as the horse. We Dark Brothers can manipulate the phantom world, too, you know."

"Well, I'll have to try it sometime." With that, they reached the keep. Arlen walked in and cut left, where he would find who he was looking for. When he found Calcelmo, he cut right to the chase. "I need to see your Falmer research."

"Er..." Calcelmo thought. "No. Not until that part of the museum's opened."

Arlen stepped forward and punched Calcelmo in the neck. The fragile old man dropped, leaving Arlen free to take his keys. With that, he and Cicero walked toward the wizard's Dwemer museum. The guard out front stopped them.

"Nobody is to enter without Calcelmo's permission."

"And I have it," Arlen said quickly, before Cicero could butcher the man. Arlen held up the key and used it to open the museum door. Inside, though, the guards knew that nobody had permission to enter. Arlen slid behind a display case just as one of them turned to look at him. Cicero was at his side the whole time. The guard started forward to investigate, but Cicero dove from cover and killed him.

"Good work, Cicero." Arlen stood and searched the man, taking a key to the inner part of the museum. "Now let's go get that research."

/\

"A rubbing? I was expecting notes. Also not expecting two mad jesters to walk in, so I suppose I'm in no place to predict." Enthir looked over the rubbing, glancing at the journal every once in a while. "Alright, got it. Here, Karliah."

"What?" Karliah looked appalled. "What is this? Mercer stole the Guild's earnings, all of them. Then... he... no." Karliah looked over at Arlen. "Here. As a token of my appreciation. Meet me in the Ragged Flagon. You need to be there to convince the Guild that Mercer was the villain." Karliah handed a dark sword to Arlen.

"I'll be there." Arlen said. "And together we can bring down Mercer Frey."


	3. Chapter 3

Arlen moved further into the street, still cautious of the guards to either side. Finally, they both turned away and continued to walk, so Arlen dove the rest of the way between two houses. He could hardly be seen infiltrating Riftweald Manor, especially considering that Mercer might've bribed the guardsmen to arrest him. As he crept silently between the large homes, Arlen's right hand rested on Mehrunes' Razor. When he neared the Manor and heard footsteps, the Razor flew from its scabbard. In the rear courtyard of the Manor was inhabited by a man in fur armor. Arlen sheathed Mehrunes' Razor and pulled out his ebony bow. His arrows streaked through the air, and hit their marks exactly. The first hit the man's calf, and he fell to his knee. The second hit the same leg, but the thigh this time, causing the man to double over. The last arrow smacked into the man's neck, and he fell with a thud that would sicken anyone who wasn't an experience-hardened assassin. He shot the way he did for two purposes only: to kill the man, and to make sure none of his arrows showed above the low wall around Riftweald Manor. He could hardly afford someone seeing the man get shot.

Next, Arlen carefully vaulted the spiked fence, and tried the back door. It was locked, and most-likely barred on the other side. He started to move away, then stopped.

"I'm the Dragonborn," he muttered to himself. "I can spit fire that kills dragons, yell so loud that it pushes people dozens of meters. And I'm walking away because of a wooden door, barred with a wooden bar on the other side. Hm."

Arlen continued away from the door, though, knowing that if he shouted the door down he would draw attention to himself. He looked around until he saw a ramp that he could lower. The lever was too high, so he shot it with his bow and redrew Mehrunes' Razor. The ramp fell, and Arlen climbed the ramp to the balcony. The lock was engaged, but Arlen opened it easily. Once inside, he immediately heard creaks and footsteps. He rolled as quietly as possible into the next room, and turned with his dagger up. Some voices sounded, so he crept into the hallway silently. Only two voices could be heard, so Arlen prepared for two men. He found three. He dove forward, slicing someone's thigh, rolled, stood, and stabbed someone in the back. With one man doubled over and another dead, he needed only stab again and kick. The third man died, and the first man flipped over a railing and broke his neck. Arlen dropped after him, slashed blindly, and listened intently to the satisfying thump of a body hitting the floor.

Just in front of him was a cabinet, which was cracked open. He could feel something behind it, a soft cool breeze. He opened the cabinet, kicked in the back, and walked down a staircase beyond. At the bottom he found a table, with exactly what he needed on it. A map and a parchment. They were Mercer's plans. Aside from that was a display case with a frozen glass sword in it, a sign behind that read _Chillrend._ He picked the lock and took the sword, and looked around some more. The last thing in the room was a bust of an old Thieves' Guild member. He took that, turned, and left the house.

* * *

Arlen walked into the Cistern, and found Brynjolf waiting for him. "Here. Mercer's plans."

Brynjolf only spent a moment reading, then looked up in surprise. "He's going after the Eyes of the Falmer."

"If that's true," Karliah said, appearing at Brynjolf's side, "then we're going to need more than just the three of us to stop him."

"Easy," Arlen said. "Not only do we have a sewer full of thieves, I'm in control of a fortress full of assassins, a longhouse full of Companions, and... I may also have a dragon or two."

"That's not what I- wait, you lead the Companions?"

"Yes. Thammu, the previous Harbinger, gave me the honor."

"Hm... perhaps not. The assassins may work... no. That's not what I meant. Meet me at the old guardian stone outside of town."

"Sure," Arlen said, "but I have something I need to do first."

* * *

Arlen walked out of his chambers, and looked even more like a murderous jester than Cicero did. He wore loose trousers, checked in black and red, tucked into black boots. These boots were armored with gold-studded red leather, but also had curled toes and were embroidered with gold. He wore the classic jester's tunic, quartered in black and red, lined and laced in gold. He wore black gloves, also embroidered with gold, but the knuckles were studded with gold as well. Over his left shoulder was a single black leather spaulder, studded and lined with gold like the rest of his outfit. Finally, he wore a three-point jester's cap. It was half red, half black, with gold bells at its points. Sewn into the collar of his tunic was a hood, half red and half black, embroidered in gold. At his waist was Mehrunes' Razor, hanging on a belt of, yes, black and gold.

Cicero giggled at the sight of the dark, worn, bloody jester. "Please, Listener, tell Cicero he can come with!"

Arlen smiled. "Of course, Cicero. Let's kill someone."

* * *

Arlen and Cicero appeared from the shadows, seemingly out of nowhere. This, for Karliah, was startling and rare. She was usually the one sneaking, and she always knew when someone else was, too. This time, she was taken by surprise.

Recovering, Karliah spoke. "This is Nightingale Hall. Follow me."

* * *

The ritual was a simple one. Karliah convinced the two of them, Arlen easily, Brynjolf a bit more difficult, to become Nightingales, and convinced Nocturnal to give them a chance to stop Mercer Frey. Then Brynjolf had told him that he would be Guild Master once Mercer was caught, and they'd left. Arlen re-donned his jester's armor and smiled at his amassed army. He had sent couriers to the Brotherhood, the Guild, and the Companions earlier, and they were all here now.

"Who are they?" Karliah asked skeptically.

"Karliah, meet the Companions, the Dark Brotherhood, and the Thieves' Guild." Arlen smiled. "I think you'll fit in especially well with the Guild. They-"

"I know who the Guild is, Arlen."

Arlen's smile deepened. "Now, these people will all help us find and kill Mercer Frey, only thing missing is a scout."

"A sco-"

"OD-AH-VIING!" Arlen Shouted, and the dragon, in all his ruby brilliance, appeared from around a mountain peak. He flew toward them and hovered above, letting his deep, resonating, full, terrifying voice ring forth from his massive throat.

"Zu'u fen golt, Dovahkiin." As Arlen's Dragonborn career progressed, so did his understanding of the language. He was now very well-versed in the tongue, enough to carry on a long, intelligent conversation with any dragon or the like. As such, Arlen understood Odahviing to say, _I must land, Dragonborn._

"Geh, in Odahviing," Arlen said. _Of course, Master Snow Hunter._ "Clear a path, men!" Arlen shouted, and the Dark Brotherhood, the largest group there, split in two and cleared a perfect landing spot so that Odahviing could speak with Arlen. The dragon landed.

"Dreh aal Zu'u aam fin lot Thu'um?" _How may I serve the Great Voice?_

"Zu'u fen koraavamativ, Odahviing." _I need a lookout, Snow Hunter._ "Mu los tovit fah Mercer Frey. Zu'u nu bolaav hi dii mindoraan do ok koraav, ful hi aal pruzaan siiv rok." _We are searching for Mercer Frey. I allow you my knowledge of his appearance, so that you may better find him._ Arlen allowed Odahviing into very selective thoughts so that he could see what Mercer looked like, and Odahviing growled an affirmative before taking off.

"I understand your intentions, Arlen, but-"

"Hold on," Arlen said, glancing at the moon. "They'll be here any moment."

"No, Arlen, you don't understand-"

"Don't ever FUCKING say that to me!" Arlen exclaimed, mind briefly going back to the death of Jarl Balgruuf.

Finally, the drumbeat sounded. Arlen smiled as he saw the flood of blue and the bear's head banner over the hills to the north.

"Arlen, we can't use all of these people. Only a Nightingale can reclaim the Skeleton Key."

"Skeleton Key?" Arlen asked. "I don't care about some Skeleton Key! These men are to kill Mercer Frey. After that we'll talk about how else to win or Matron's favor."

"Arlen, you don't-" Karliah started, but caught herself at a warning glance from Brynjolf. In the pause, she had time to think. "Yes," she said, then broke into a smile. "Yes," she said again, then laughed. "We have an army!"

"No, lass," Brynjolf said. "We've got two armies, and a dragon to boot!"

"Right, forgot one thing," Arlen said. "PAAR-THUR-NAX!"

And a second dragon rounded a mountain in the distance and hovered above the armies. Karliah sighed, and Brynjolf spoke. "At least speak the common tongue so we all understand you, lad."

"Dreh aal Zu'u aam fin lot Thu'um?" Paarthurnax asked.

"Speak the common tongue, to start, please, Paarthurnax," Arlen replied.

"Of course, Dovahkiin, for the benefit of our companions."

"We need a second lookout, searching for Mercer Frey. Odahviing took off in that direction, he can give you the memories of his appearance. You mustn't fight if you are not comfortable, but we need to know his destination so that we may disable him, and one of us three kill him and reclaim the Skeleton Key."

"Understood, Dovahkiin." Paarthurnax took off in pursuit of Odahviing, and Ulfric Stormcloak led his army into the clearing.

"Hello, Arlen," he called. Arlen wandered over and exchanged words. "The people have taken to the Moot," Ulfric said, referring to the voting of the High King of Skyrim."

"Congratulations, Ulfric," Arlen said, reaching a hand out.

"No, Arlen. They've elected me the leader of our armies and the senior advisor. I say _our_ armies because... well, Arlen... they've elected YOU as High King."

* * *

Arlen; Dragonborn, Harbinger, Listener, Guild Master, Nightingale, and now High King, rode Shadowmere at his army's head. They thundered, drummed, poured across the land, the three Guilds behind them. Paarthurnax and Odahviing had both returned with the same news, and that had been that Mercer was headed to the Dwarven ruin of Irkngthand. Now, the column was nearly there. The plan had been to cut Mercer off on the trail, but he'd reached his destination first. The only choice now was to have the army, known as the Stormshadow Army of Skyrim in honor of Ulfric's and Arlen's surnames, surround the ruin and all entrances to prevent Mercer's escape, and to allow for only select few inside. Those who would enter were Arlen, Ulfric, Cicero, Karliah, Brynjolf, and Aela the Huntress of the Companions.

Arlen crested a snowy hill and saw Irkngthand, in all its Dwemer glory. It was a soaring jumble of towers and domed golden roofs, a number of them collapsed but a much more surprising number still standing. Arlen could see fires and small wooden structures, and knew that there were bandits here. Karliah approached, Brynjolf behind her.

"Arlen, we should slip past, we have no time to waste."

"You two take Cicero, but I'm staying with my people. I assure you I'll catch up."

"As you wish," Karliah said, and she and Brynjolf slunk off into the trees. After a moment's hesitation, Cicero followed.

"Who's ready to fight?" Arlen shouted. There was a roar of approval, and the Stormshadow Army of Skyrim flooded around a dismounting Arlen. Once he had found his way off Shadowmere, Arlen reached into his Pouch of Collecting to pull out Chillrend. The bandits were roused, but also frightened as the army charged forward. Arlen sped past even the fastest of the warriors, and cut down the first of the bandits. His skirmish slowed him, and the rest of the army crushed their opposition. Arlen saw only one soldier fall, but he soon stood back up.

Then the trouble started.

The army poured into the main courtyard and broke against a sudden rain of arrows. Arlen screamed at them to fall back, but the only way out was blocked. A few of the luckier men and women, including Arlen, managed to find cover long enough to draw bows of their own. Arlen took aim, but it was a poor angle and the arrow missed. As he fired, three of the bandits' arrows fell toward his position. One of the soldiers fired and hit, but was stuck through himself. Now Ulfric had rallied the other men, and they charged with shields up. When the bandits saw that their arrows weren't getting through they scattered, and got at the soldiers from other angles. The advance reached a ramp, though, and now the soldiers were climbing toward the surviving bandits.

Arlen joined the charge, shooting several men from their vantage points. Now, though, the bandits had formed up again, and it was clear they were under some wise and effective command. Arrows poured across catwalks, down ramps, and into the soldiers, who were bottlenecked on those catwalks and ramps. Blue and gray soldiers fell to the snow and ice, and very few survived long enough to reach the bandits at the top level of the ruin's outdoor. Even those who did were cut down, as they were both weary and they had the low ground. When Arlen reached the pair of defenders, he dropped below their swings, drew back two arrows, slid backward along the icy ground between the men, and shot both in the back. They tumbled from their vantage point and allowed the Stormshadow army to flood over onto the upper platform and finish off the rest of the bandits.

Arlen glanced toward what he thought was the door, and found that Karliah and Brynjolf were just slipping inside unnoticed. Cicero gave him a sort of salute on his way in. Arlen found his way to the same door not long after, but he showed up and found that his companions had already made it through a sizable portion of the ruin. They had left a trail of bodies, too. He navigated his way through half-collapsed hallways and steam-powered fire traps, before going through a final door, down some steps, and up to Brynjolf's side. Cicero appeared out of nowhere, and all three started.

"Cicero saw Mercer Frey, yes. He butchered two Deep Elves. He did it with such intricacy."

"Intricacy?" Arlen asked. Cicero only used language like that when he was in admiration.

"Yes, intricacy. He slid in behind unnoticed, and flipped his gold blade, and stabbed and stabbed, and the other Deep Elf was none the wiser! He slashed and slashed and slashed the second one!" Cicero gave way to a small fit of giggling, and Karliah spoke.

"That's Mercer, alright."

"Those bandits..." Arlen started. The bodies at the entrance had been massacred, killed in their sleep and the blood spread from Oblivion to Markarth.

"Brynjolf and I found them like that. Mercer's doing."

Arlen took off his hat and pulled up the hood in his collar, stepped through the door and followed Cicero's lead, walking through another half-collapsed corridor and into the Falmer's territory. They patrolled, listening, but that wasn't a problem. The four didn't intend to be heard. Cicero disappeared into one of the Falmer structures, and came out with his dagger stained red. Arlen slipped into another of the structures, on the lower level, and stabbed the Falmer inside. He left the structure and found Karliah and Brynjolf dropping onto two more Deep Elves from the upper level. There were only two remaining, now, and Arlen moved toward them. Karliah had drawn a bow, and the arrow streaked out of the shadows into the throat of one of the elves. Cicero appeared form nowhere and broke the other's neck. Arlen looked around and saw a lever for the gate, and moved to pull it. Cicero went the opposite direction for reasons Arlen couldn't know, but he figured it out when the clown pulled a second lever and the gate opened. Karliah and Brynjolf stepped through the opening, Arlen and Cicero close behind. Karliah tripped a bear trap with an arrow, and the other three skirted it neatly.

The next chamber was indeed a large one, with towers and walls collapsed across it or still standing strong. No doubt the place was crawling with Falmer, but Arlen couldn't see any yet. He looked back and found Cicero gone, just something he'd do. There was a growling gurgle, and he ghosted out of a Falmer structure up on a mound of debris.

"There's the high road, or low, lad. Your choice."

Brynjolf was right. There was a clear way to get to high places and take the towers and catwalks, or they could move along the main road straight through the chamber. Arlen climbed a low pile of debris to a catwalk, and slunk along. Karliah released arrows now and then, and Cicero continually disappeared and reappeared, each time with more blood on his dagger. Arlen stuck to the path with Brynjolf. After only a minute or so of this, a loud crash sounded through the room. Arlen picked up the pace, and the group came across a fully collapsed tower. Arlen stepped onto another catwalk, and buried Mehrunes' Razor into the back of a Falmer. It fell, far, to the fallen tower, and broke upon the stones.

"So this is what we heard," Brynjolf said in near-amazement. "The entire tower collapsed!"

Karliah opened her mouth to respond, but it was closed when a lightning bolt streaked out of the shadows above and slammed into her chest. She staggered and nearly fell, but Brynjolf caught her. For his part, Arlen pulled Mehrunes' Razor, spun, and threw it as hard as he could. The dagger spun through the air without a shade of slowing, and hit a shadow with a sickening thunk. A Falmer staggered into the light, clutching at the ebony pommel, and tumbled from the catwalk.

As the Falmer fell past Cicero, the clown dove from his place on the ramp. They collided in midair, and Arlen realized the Falmer wasn't dead. Cicero ripped Arlen's dagger from the Deep Elf's gut, and situated his curl-toed boot under its chin. The Falmer hit the stones with Cicero on top, and Cicero's weight and continued momentum snapped the elf's head backward with a sickening crunch. Cicero swept into a deep and graceful bow toward Arlen, and tossed the knife up to him. It came down point first, and Arlen shifted over and let the dagger slide independently into its scabbard. The four crept up the ramp to where the Falmer had fallen from, and pushed open the bronze door there. They moved in a single-file line down the ensuing stairs, avoiding bear traps Mercer had set, and ghosted across a ruined corridor to another door. Through this was, surprisingly enough, more Falmer, and a Dwarven Centurion, ten feet tall at least.

"Shor's bones," Brynjolf whispered. "Look at that monstrosity! We can take the beast on, or sneak around. Your call, lad."

Arlen shrugged the hood back, replaced his hat, and stood. "No more shadow. We're losing Mercer." Chillrend came from Arlen's Bag, and he flipped Mehrunes' Razor into his other hand. "TIID KLO UL!" Time bent around Arlen, and he sprinted forward. The Falmer turned in slow motion, but Arlen wasn't surprised when they failed to see the dark streak. Instead they saw the Centurion as it awakened, and they moved to attack it. Each was crushed under the barrel-sized hammer, and when they were taken care of Arlen sheared the bronze warrior in half. A bit further through the corridor, Arlen found himself walking up some bronze pipes, and across the cave without disrupting the Falmer. They passed through another chamber, dropped from a ledge, and stopped. There was no way back up, and only one way through.

"Mercer's close," Karliah said. "I can feel it."

Arlen nodded, put his hat and sword into his Bag, put on his hood, and replaced the Razor in his right hand. Karliah pushed open the odd Falmer gate, and Arlen passed through toward the bronze door. He grasped the handle, pulled, and found himself staring into the empty eye sockets of an enormous bronze snow elf. The statue sat cross-legged, with a torch in one hand, still lit and held proudly, and a book on the opposite knee. Mercer was just putting the Eyes into his Bag, giant white and glistening gems.

"He's here, and he hasn't seen us yet," Karliah said. "Brynjolf, watch the door."

"Aye, lass," Brynjolf responded. "Nothing's getting by me."

"Climb down that ledge," Karliah said, pointing toward a clear way to get down to the floor of the cave and approach the statue. "See if you can-"

"Karliah," Mercer Frey's voice sounded, but he didn't even turn. "When will you learn you can't get the drop on me?" He cast some type of spell, and the ledge collapsed beneath Arlen. He rolled to his feet, but found that Karliah, Brynjolf, and Cicero were still above. "When Brynjolf brought you before me, I could feel a sudden shift in the wind," Mercer said, clearly trying to over-dramatize the situation. And at that moment, I knew it would end with one of us at the wrong end of a blade."

"Five me the Key, Mercer." Arlen's voice was hard and unyielding. "I won't ask twice." And true, he wouldn't. He hadn't lost his grip on the dagger during the fall, and it spun small circles through the air, now.

"What's Karliah been filling your head with? Tales of thieves with honour? Oaths, rife with falsehoods and broken promises? Nocturnal doesn't care about you, the Key, or anything having to do with the Guild."

"This isn't about Nocturnal," Arlen said. Sure, he would serve the Daedric Prince when this was over, but he was done with betrayals and surprise enemies. "This is personal."

"Revenge, is it?" Mercer asked, making the word almost an insult. "Have you learned nothing from your time with us? When will you open your eyes and realize how little my actions differ from yours? Both of us lie, cheat, and steal to further our own end." By now Mercer had strolled down the arm of the Snow Elf and stood before Arlen on the enormous book. Furthermore, his foolish spell had broken a pipe and started the cavern flooding.

Arlen was to spit something about honour, but he knew he didn't have much left. "The difference is I have the decency not to abandon those I've used for my personal gain. The difference is after I've lied, cheated, and stolen, I share the reward with those who helped get it. The difference is I'm a better liar, a more efficient cheater, and I don't get caught stealing."

"It's clear you'll never see the Skeleton Key as I do: as an instrument of limitless wealth! Instead you've chosen to fall over your own foolish code."

Water touched Arlen's boots, and he figured he'd better end the conversation. "I'm not going to ask again. You can give the Key over peacefully, or you'll be the one to fall."

"Then the die is cast, and once again my blade will taste Nightingale blood!" Mercer drew his blade and turned to Karliah as Arlen ran forward. "Karliah, I'll deal with you once I've been rid of our irksome companion. In the meantime, perhaps you and Brynjolf should get better acquantied." A swirling red orb flew from his hand, and Brynjolf drew two daggers.

"What's happening?" He asked, and swung at Karliah. She just managed to dodge, but instead of the adrenaline-filled and almost angry expression of battle, Brynjolf and Karliah shared a look of sadness. "I can't stop myself!" Brynjolf's voice reflected the helplessness and dread he was feeling.

"Damn you, Mercer!" Karliah cried, and set about disarming and disabling Brynjolf. But Karliah wasn't accustomed to this close-quarters combat. She was an archer. If Arlen didn't work fast, she'd perish, and Cicero would be forced to kill Brynjolf.

"Cicero!" Arlen shouted. "Do not kill Brynjolf! Take his daggers, and keep him from Karliah! Besides, do not act!" Still, if Brynjolf managed to deal a serious blow to the Dunmer or Cicero, he would lose his out-of-combat sanity and go on a spree, stopping only when he reached Arlen or an end to his targets. Arlen leaped onto the book just as Mercer cast an invisibility spell. Arlen could see a shimmer in the air, but couldn't place what was what. If he attacked now, the hard-to-see misty form would find a weakness and kill him. Instead he dove and rolled, hurling a knife from one of his many hidden sheaths. It struck Mercer somewhere, and took the man's focus away from the spell. Arlen turned back in time to see Mercer rip the blade from his thigh with a spatter of blood, and the spell come back to mind. He couldn't let that happen. He dropped a foot on the flat of Mercer's blade, pinning the point to the ground, and swung. The Razor hit a stud and threw sparks, and Mercer dropped his offhand weapon and grabbed Arlen's wrist. Arlen used the blade as a step and leaped, slamming Mercer in the ear with the studded top of his boot. Arlen grimaced at Mercer's scream, but only because he knew the feeling: an instant headache, incessant ear-ringing, a blur of vision, and a lapse in reason. Mercer dropped the blade and nearly dropped himself as Arlen completed the spin in the air and landed on his feet. The old man, now thoroughly disarmed, reached for another weapon hidden away somewhere. Arlen stepped in and kicked again, now at the man's feet, and let his adversary tumble to the ground. Arlen heard a shout from Brynjolf, and a warning word from Cicero, and knew he needed to finish this now. He stepped forward, kicked Mercer in the face, and plunged the dagger into his heart.

Brynjolf instantly stopped and tossed his dagger to the ground. He opened his mouth to speak, but Karliah put a hand up, picked up the fallen blade, and slid it into its sheath. Brynjolf nodded and swallowed, and the three dropped to Arlen's level. Arlen looked through Mercer's Bag for the Skeleton Key, and came back with it, plenty of coin, some potions and poisons, gems, and both Eyes, somehow unharmed. Just as he straightened, the pressure of the water opened an even larger hole in the pipe, and the water poured in with redoubled speed. It rose past Arlen's waist within seconds, and already Karliah and Brynjolf were treading water. He swam over to the half-collapsed platform and tried to open the door, but just as his hand closed about the handle the water pushed it closed. Even should he get it open, they would be trapped between a flood of water and a flood of Falmer. He turned and looked around. Brynjolf and Karliah had disappeared, looking for something below the water. Arlen looked up rather than down, recognizing that he could swim up and get out somehow.

The pipes.

Arlen examined them, and saw that they disappeared into the ceiling of of the cave. They had to lead somewhere, right? Just as he had the thought, he saw a piece of the cave, right above the Snow Elf, cracked and broken. It looked more like a group of individual stones wedged into another entrance.

The water had reached his chest again, so he pushed off the door and swam up to the Snow Elf's head.

"FUS RO DAH!" The stones crumbled beneath the Shout, flying into a tunnel beyond. Cicero climbed from the water and up the side of the cave, jumping back into the tunnel. The water continued to rise, and Arlen with it, until Cicero managed to pull him, Karliah, and Brynjolf from the flooding cavern.

The aftermath was a blur. After the excitement faded and the adrenaline drained, Arlen experienced only exhaustion. Soon he found himself sitting in Breezehome across the fire from Cicero, with Karliah's bow on his back and a feeling of anticipation in his gut. Karliah had told him to go to the Twilight Sepulchre to return the Key, and that he would have to use the Pilgrim's Path. The Key was what would have opened the door directly from the main chamber to the Sepulchre, but with it missing there was only one way through.

Arlen stood and set out, Cicero close behind.

"Ho ho ho, and he he he, break his lute across my knee," Cicero started.

"And if that bard should choose to fight," Arlen continued.

"Why," they said together, grinning at each other. "Then we'll set his clothes alight!"

The pair giggled maniacally, prancing down the road with a terrifying and murderous glee. Out the doors they went, and Arlen whistled for Shadowmere.

"Oh, Sithis," Cicero begged into the horse's eye. "Please, oh, please, give Cicero a mount! He has worked so hard for the Night Mother, and when his duties were fulfilled he turned to assist the Listener, and therefore the Night Mother, and therefore the Void Sithis himself-"

"Cicero," Arlen said. "He's granted you. It seemed you needed only ask."

Cicero turned around and saw a horse, very similar to Shadowmere. The same black coat, the same red eyes, although with a deep midnight purple saddle with the Red Hand on it. And, an extra touch just for Cicero, his mane was split and tailored to look just like Cicero's own hat, complete with dull silver bells. Silenced bells, of course. Inscribed neatly in the dark sand in front was a message: _Humble servant Cicero, meet your new mount, Gloomfire. Only whistle, and he will respond._ Below that was a hand. As soon as the pair laid eyes on that, the entire message faded into the sand. Both jesters mounted their respective horses, and started to canter out over the plains to the west of Whiterun. They would have to turn south sooner or later; if Karliah's map marking was accurate, the Sepulchre was in the south-western extremes of Falkreath hold.

Cicero and Arlen had turned south just an hour before, and now rode cross-country through the pine forest. They'd been following somebody, a man dressed in chef's clothes with a ladle on his belt. He seemed to be going in the same direction. They took a wrong turn to follow him, though, and he seemed to be headed toward Falkreath, but the long way.

The Dark Brotherhood way.

The chef found the Sanctuary, just as he'd hoped to do, but seemed panicked to find it burned and destroyed. The Black Door was speaking again, to a leaf that had fallen in front of it.

"What is the music of life?" A second to wait, then, "You are not worthy."

The chef knelt next to the door, whispered, "Silence, my Brother," and again laid the door to rest. But then he said something else: "And may you speak again only to Our Dread Father."

Instead of "Welcome Home," the door said "Greetings, Father..." and the light from the red hand faded.

This man was obviously a Brother, and a ranking one. Arlen, as the Listener, outranked every Brother, but he didn't want to cause any sort of affront to this man, at least not without learning the words to each door and any further phrases. He dropped from Shadowmere's saddle, in perfect unison with Cicero, and the two horses dissipated into shadow while their riders did the same. The chef turned, and seemed to look directly at Arlen, but Arlen knew he was looking past, for behind him was a small band of surviving Penitus Oculatus agents.

"Were you here?" One asked.

"No, I wasn't. I heard you pinned an old man..." the second trailed off as he saw Festus Krex's skeleton, still pinned to the tree. Arlen shuddered, and it was all he could do not do destroy these men. Instead, he observed the chef. The man's ladle came from the belt, and Arlen saw that the inside was lined with ebony and the outside studded with the same. The handle was banded and wrapped in ebony ribbons, and a hand was painted on it where it hung from the man's fingers. The Oculatus Agents drew swords, but the chef was already upon them. Cicero charged, and Arlen knew it was too late to hide. He flew forth as well, drawing Mehrune's Razor and pulling up his hood in place of the jester's hat. Before the three powers, the Oculatus band crumbled, and the chef instantly turned and raised his ladle-mace to Arlen.

"Who are you, and what happened here?"

"I am Arlen Shadowcloak-"

"Do not lie to me. Bare your eyes, or be marked and killed as deceiver."

Arlen knew his black eyes were a good way to tell it was him, so he pulled back the hood and sheathed the Razor.

The chef took one look at Arlen's eyes, and knelt, bowing his head and dropping the mace. "Forgive me, Listener. I had no way of knowing-"

"No, you're right. You had none. Stand, and reclaim your weapon. I will escort you to our Dawnstar sanctuary."

The chef stood and belted his mace, but raised an eyebrow. "Dawnstar? I've not heard of such a Sanctuary."

"And I've not heard of rest phrases for the Doors, so it seems we can benefit each other."

"It would seem so," the chef said, and whistled. Cicero and Arlen did the same, and the near-identical black horses appeared from fire, mere, and fog.

"Shall we adjourn?" Cicero asked. "And perhaps sing some old Brotherhood tunes?"

"And if I chance to see a cat," the chef sang, in a jester-worthy voice.

Then, the three together in a discordant harmony, "I'll feed its corpse to my pet rat!"


	4. Interlude

This is a very short transition chapter from Thieves' Guild to Dawnguard. Arlen's choices reflect my own; not to worry about the Guildmaster shite and just move on. Not worth it.

* * *

Arlen sat next to the skeleton, and thought. The Pilgrim's Path had gone perfectly, and he'd managed each puzzle well. Nystrom's journal had helped, of course.

 _Shadows of their former selves, sentinels of the dark. They wander evermore and deal swift death to defilers._

Arlen nodded to Gallus on his way past, and walked through the door. A dark purple Nightingale spectre patrolled below him, and he evaded it neatly. He'd left Cicero back in Dawnstar with Thagrad, the chef. He knew that only a Nightingale could return the key, and didn't think Nocturnal would take kindly to a fool accompanying him. So, he'd left them at Sanctuary, donned his Jester's armour, and set off. When he'd reached the Sepulchre, he'd been greeted by a Nightingale spectre, a blue one, and it turned out to be Gallus, the old Guild Master that Mercer had killed. He'd been directed to the corpse of Nystrom, who had on him a journal with riddles as to how to reach the end of the Pilgrim's Path. He'd followed it to the letter, but wouldn't know what they meant until he reached what they referred to.

And so he walked blindly into the dimly lit, but still too light, Pilgrim's Path, with no grasp of what lay ahead. More dark spectres tried to bar his path, but he either evaded or kindly and apologetically laid them to rest.

Finally he stepped into a room, darker than all before. However, there were lights. They never penetrated the gloom for long, only a few metres. But in those few metres Arlen could see corpses and loot, all he wanted.

 _Above all they stand, vigilance everlasting. Beholden to the murk, yet contentious of the glow._

Arlen stopped just short of the first light, his hand only centimeters from entering the light to take a plump coin purse. He navigated a long series of tripwires, heat-radiating light circles, and finally emerged in a lit room that didn't burn as the earlier weak light had. In the center of the room was a large obsidian statue of Nocturnal.

 _Offer what She desires most, but reject the material. For her greatest want is that which cannot be seen, felt, or carried._

Arlen looked at the riches at Nocturnal's feet, the gems and jewels and gold, and turned face before temptation took him. He knew what She desired most. Nocturnal, the Mistress of Shadow. So, the braziers would need to be extinguished. He found two pull chains next to them, and when pulled they knocked water over onto the braziers. When the room was dark, a door slid open and Arlen was allowed through. Through the next several passages were more corrupted Nightingale shades, whom he neatly circumvented. Finally, he'd arrived at the end of his journey.

 _Direct, and yet indirect. The path to salvation a route of cunning with fortune betraying the foolish._

This riddle, Arlen had navigated well. He only had to pick the lock on a door, instead of taking a shade-infested, though also loot-filled, detour to get to the same place.

 _The journey is complete, the Empress' embrace awaits the fallen. Hesitate not if you wish to gift her your eternal devotion._

Arlen turned a corner blind, and nearly fell into a hole. _The fallen,_ he'd remembered, then. _Hesitate not._ And so, he jumped. He fell in a roll at the bottom, and found himself next to a skeleton with a note. He didn't bother to read it, he knew it would be a plea for food or something, final thoughts perhaps.

And so, Arlen sat next to the skeleton, and thought. The Pilgrim's Path had gone perfectly, and he'd managed each puzzle well. Only, now, he thought perhaps he'd misunderstood the last one. He looked at the skeleton, and couldn't help but remember the skeleton _key,_ which could open anything.

Open anything.

Arlen had no reason to suspect this would work, but he pulled the key out of his Bag of Collecting and prodded some of the walls, up toward the opening, the skeleton, and the ground.

The ground? What ground?

Arlen fell, though the skeleton didn't. He landed perfectly in a room of shadow, and saw a slot for the Skeleton Key. He replaced it, half-listened to a vision of Nocturnal, chose to become an Agent of Stealth, and left.

* * *

"Hey, you, Drag- I mean, uh... traveler." The Vigilant of Stendarr said. Arlen knew immediately that something was off. He discreetly motioned for Cicero, always following stealthily behind him, to hide and wait. When he was sure the clown was in position, Arlen dropped from Shadowmere's saddle with a flourish and a tip of his hood. During the Pilgrim's Path, Arlen had somehow lost his left glove, right boot, and Jester's cap, so he'd changed his armor setup again. Now he wore what he hoped he wouldn't lose: A pair of soft, dark grey leather boots, buckled tightly to the knees, where they ended to reveal slim trousers of the same colour. His tunic was black, worn under a dark grey leather jerkin, buckled thrice descending from his right shoulder. His left shoulder was adorned with the red hand of the Dark Brotherhood, though that couldn't be seen beneath the cloak; he had different colors in his Bag for different surroundings. As it was, he needed to hide amongst rocks, so he'd chosen gray.

"What can I do for Stendarr's Vigil?"

"You can die, in the name of the Volkihar court!" And the scene erupted. Cicero dropped from who-knows-where onto one of the Vigilants, and his laughter echoed through the canyon as the blood spattered the same. The Vigil, now obviously vampires, used their leeching spells and daggers with an exceptionally medium amount of skill. Arlen slipped under one swinging blade, and Cicero dropped the vampire behind it with ease. As the vampire's dagger fell, Arlen turned, caught its point, spun all the way through, and flicked it into the chest of another 'Vigilant.'

The last looked on in hate and terror of these two assassins, and charged forward with renewed zeal. Cicero stepped in and redirected his dagger, while Arlen slit his wrist and throat in rapid succession. The vampire choked on his own blood, fell to his knees, and tried to croak something. It didn't work, and Arlen kicked him over.

"Volkihar Court?" Cicero asked, stepping to Arlen's side.

"Mm. I don't know, either, but suppose we find out? It'd be useful to have undead such as these at our side, no? Whatsay we serve our Dread Lord more closely, Cicero? Whatsay we _die?_ "


	5. Chapter 4

Arlen heard a crack as the vampire broke upon the rocks below. There were more, he was sure. He turned as Cicero brought one to the same cliff.

"Where is Volkihar court?" It was a simple question, and yet the vampire's look of confusion reflected its true obscurity. "Would you like to play a game? It's called Questions. I ask you a question. If you tell me what I want to know, we'll see how much coin we can fit in your pocket. It you tell me all you know, we'll see how much blood we can fit in your mouth. If everything you know is not what I want to know, that blood will be your own. And if you don't tell me anything, we'll test your agility on the rocks below. Where is Volkihar Court?"

"I don't know!" And Cicero pushed him.

"What's going on he-" another vampire came from the fort and rounded the corner. Arlen rolled forward and came up with his dagger out, but the vampire didn't bother to pull his own. "Who are you?" He was calm. That meant power. That meant, Arlen hoped, Volkihar.

"I'm looking for Volkihar Court. I wish to become a part of it, and use my power to—"

"I don't care. Go there. Explain yourself to them, not to me. If they deem your life over, that's their choice. If not, do what you wish. I'll mark your map."

The vampire made a slash in the map with his fingernail, at the very northwest corner, in the waters above Skyrim.

"There?" Arlen was skeptical. "There's nothing there." He dragged Mehrunes' Razor across the vampire's throat, and watched him wobble and fall. "Nobody knows were Volkihar is, then?"

"Don't dismiss the worm's words so easily, Listener..." Cicero came up behind Arlen quietly. "There are stories. Cheerful children's stories, of the looming shadow in the northwest. The Castle Beyond the Thalmor. Full of devils. None return."

"Stories, Cicero, don't help."

"Ah, but these are true! From many accounts!"

"Mmm... Worth investigation, I suppose?" Cicero nodded, smiling. "Well. FEIM!" There were three words to the Become Ethereal Shout, but he didn't need them. As soon as he felt the invulnerability, Arlen dove from the cliff and rolled to his feet at the bottom. There, Shadowmere rose from his familiar inky pool, and allowed Arlen to mount. Next to them, a column of grey and black fire erupted, and Cicero's Gloomfire reared and whinnied from that, the very definition of imposing.

Cicero mounted, ever happy at his new horse. "We can approach using the Phantom world, Listener, but if we've never been before, neither we or the horses would know where to emerge. There would be a chance of a very... gruesome emergence. Such as, half inside a wall, or with a foot under a rock."

"Thank you, Cicero. I appreciate your tutelage in these omitted portions of my training." And so, the pair dove into the Phantom World and emerged further north, in the stables of Solitude. The passage of time in the Phantom World was compacted, just like distance, and when the horses moved from their mere and fire, the evening had turned to midday. From there, Cicero and Arlen kicked their horses into a swift canter, and began to ride even further northeast, toward the shore. From the mountainous reaches of Solitude, Arlen could see that shore, though there was much fog before and beyond. He hadn't the slightest inkling where Volkihar Court could be.

He and Cicero rode past a fort, full of Thalmor, Arlen saw, but still nothing came through the fog. Finally, Shadowmere and Gloomfire reached the shore. Once again, all Arlen saw ahead was impenetrable fog, but that was interesting enough. Whether or not they found Volkihar court there, _something_ was out in that unnatural fog. This suspicion was confirmed when Shadowmere's hooves clacked onto a wooden dock, pointing directly out at the fog, with a small rowboat rocking in the slight waves.

Arlen slipped his grey-green cloak off and put a grey-blue one on instead, to hide amongst the fog and the water. He and Cicero dropped into the boat and let the falling tide carry them out toward the fog. As the boat reached the wall of gloom, the water went instantly still. Arlen wanted to avoid rowing, for its sound would reveal them, but now it was necessary. He couldn't see even Cicero, half a meter in front of him, not to mention any castle or court.

"Listener!" Cicero pointed behind Arlen. As Arlen looked back, he saw that the fog had cleared some, and Cicero was pointing toward an imposing castle, to their left. Arlen began to row that way, but it was only moments before he himself saw that castle, off to the right and even farther away. Instantly and without thinking, Arlen Shouted. It was more of a whisper, appropriate for what the shout was; Aura Whisper.

"Laas yah nir..." And Life was revealed to him. Yet, there was none. Not in the castle, and nowhere in the water around. The only life was himself and Cicero. What he couldn't see there that he probably should have was the swarm of bats enveloping the boat, until they were already around him. He couldn't even draw the Razor before the bats disappeared, leaving a tall shadow of a man between him and Cicero. The outstanding feature of this man was his orange eyes, glowing out of the fog. Once again, Arlen hadn't even the time to draw his Razor before a claw entered his chest and he fell unconscious from shock.

* * *

Arlen awakened, being dragged on his back from the boat. He saw Cicero next to him, the fool's hat falling from his head and remaining in the boat.

He awakened again, but this time Cicero was nowhere to be seen. In fact, nothing was. The only thing he could see was a low, wet rock wall next to him, and he hadn't the strength to lift or move his head.

A third awakening, but this one felt odd. Arlen felt light, as if he was floating within something between water and air. He could see smoke in red and black encircling, as far as he could tell, everything. Aside from that, he saw something that, much to his surprise, hadn't immediately drawn his attention: humanoid silhouettes. The largest one was only so because of height, and very feminine. It bore no features as far as Arlen could tell, as if she was just beyond some kind of light that allowed him to see Cicero standing next to him. Surrounding he and his Fool, just within the light, were five figures, these with a bit more tangibility. They were childlike, less than half Arlen's height, with dark clothes of red, black, and purple. They stood, terrifying and utterly faceless, their heads bald not only of hair, but of features as well. Occasionally, and with a seeming pattern, the five would blink out of existence and reveal a spectre of... Arlen didn't know. It was black, but not as dyed cloth or flesh. Instead, as each physical form blinked out, they seemed to leave absence itself behind; a void with only red eyes peering out. Just as Arlen took all of this in, he saw Cicero blink out just like the children were, in time with the existing pattern, and leaving behind the same void. Arlen stepped back, but didn't have time to comment before the tall one spoke. The voice was comforting, but Arlen couldn't place why. In itself it was terrifying, but then Arlen realised he'd heard it before. So long ago, as he'd lain in wait for Cicero to reveal his treachery in the Night Mother's coffin. And again, and again, every time she spoke. The figure before him was the Night Mother. Before she'd gotten more than four words out— " _you two are here be_ —" Arlen knelt and exclaimed the first thing that came to his mind.

"Sweet Mother, forgive our fatal failing and accept us into your eternal and wonderous void." The second Cicero heard 'Sweet Mother,' he too acted on instinct and knelt. The Night Mother laughed, a surprisingly soft laugh, and as she did so a shadow seemed to drift from her. Suddenly, Arlen and Cicero saw the true Night Mother in her full glory. She wore a long, flowing dress of blood red, with tall black boots and long black gloves. An elegant hood-cape sat buckled around her shoulders, hood pulled back to reveal a somehow not-surprisingly beautiful face. Just as Arlen tried to make eye contact, though, he realised how inappropriate it was he was allowing himself to look at the Mother, and averted his eyes. As he did so, she blinked out just like her children were. Arlen looked back at her and she came back to tangibility.

"Let me try this again." The voice was softer this time, except now Arlen saw another shadow, just like the one that had left her a while ago, sweep in and seemingly meld into the Mother. The beautiful woman was once again replaced by the featureless silhouette Arlen had first seen, and her voice was once again raspy. " _You two are here because you have died_." The shadow left her once again, and her voice and form reverted. "However, 'time is not a straight line' and so forth, and so your _Dread Father_ and I know what is to happen in no less than sixty minutes. Arlen, you are to be vampirized. A vampire with a low amount of control is to try to feed on your corpse, and instead infect you with his disease and bring you back from the dead. You will be a more powerful person, a better assassin, and, seeing as how _you'll technically be dead_ , you'll have a more direct line to... well, here. _The Void_. _You will be more formidable_ even than you have been thus far, and let me tell you, you've already been formidable. I cannot tell you how you'll change; even I don't know until it happens. But you will be granted a near infinite line of communication to myself and your _Father_ for eternity. However, Cicero _will not be granted that same fate._ "

Cicero, for his part, was still kneeling. As he heard this last part, though, his head shot up. "Cicero will not... be allowed to serve the Night Mother? Oh, but surely Cicero could sing and dance and caper and serve after death has taken its bloody toll? I could speak to the Listener for you? Please let poor Cicero continue to be your Keeper."

"Well..." the Night Mother looked down, then directly up into the Void. "Husband?"

All at once, the Void was gone, and Arlen, Cicero, the Night Mother and her children were all standing over, horrifyingly, Arlen and Cicero's own corpses, atop a pile. Next to them, however, was a new figure. The figure was a man, tall and brooding, wearing expensive clothes in red and black, including a tailcoat, a cane with a wicked scythe blade in place of a handle, and a tall hat. He smiled with an unnaturally wide smile and unnaturally sharp teeth, the fire of death in his eyes.

"Hello, Cicero. Arlen. I am Sithis." Before Arlen could even try to respond, Sithis continued. "Of course, this is not my true form, or voice, or power. You would quite literally be destroyed by that in this limbo between deaths. We shall wait for true death before you are allowed to behold me." Sithis chuckled, but it was underlain by something high pitched that Arlen couldn't quite pick out. "Now. Cicero. I have an offer for you. But first, Arlen, loyal Listener, and, now that I'm thinking of it... we only have a few seconds." Sithis spoke hastily now, hardly giving Arlen time to process what he was saying. "Arlen Goldentongue, I hereby appoint you, officially and in the eyes of the Gods, Arlen Shadowcloak, my Champion of Obscurity, Lord of the Unseen, King of Spectres, and Minor God of Brutality. You will not abuse these powers except for my will, otherwise I am divinely obligated to permanently destroy you and deprive you of afterlife. Goodbye, for now. Now, Cicero—"

And Arlen faded away.

Rather, Arlen remained where he was, only, on the floor. He was in his body now, next to Cicero's atop the pile, and their Dread Father and Night Mother were gone. As Arlen's eyes shot open in the dark to realise these facts, he realised that, while he could tell the darkness was there, his vision was not obscured by it. Before he could have any more thoughts, he felt something around his neck burning. He ripped off his silver necklace, an enchanted piece he'd had for a while, and threw it across the room. He was instantly relieved of the pain. Arlen's now apparently heightened senses pulled his attention to a dimly lit doorway to his left, where someone had just skidded to a stop.

"Ah... Lord Harkon?" There was a man in the doorway, wearing red and black light armor of sharp, stylish leather strips, shuffling backward. "One of the cattle is awake!" The man ran off. Before he could get far, though, everything stopped. The dust in the air halted, the man's footsteps ceased, even the din of wind and storm outside, and the voices through the walls that Arlen hadn't realised he could hear stopped. He stood up completely now, and everything around him shifted focus. As he looked around, only what he focused on was tangible anymore; the rest seemed spectral. It was as if the colours of the world had mixed and muddled into a semi-transparent smokescreen, and only if he looked somewhere would those colours fall back into place and sharpen. Even as he had the thought he realised he could will the world into this smokey state even as he focused on it, and could see through it to whatever lay behind as well. He began to move, and behind him streaked a brief puff of black smoke with red light shining from within. Still nothing moved. Arlen walked through the dim doorway to the running vampire, suspended mid-step and mid-air in his hasty flight from Arlen. Arlen continued past and turned, staring at the vampire. He realised now that with every step he had become unnoticably more exhausted, but it stacked by the end. Regardless, the world suddenly snapped back into place, leaving the vampire to barrel unknowingly into Arlen. For his part, Arlen ducked and turned, throwing the vampire hard over his shoulder, then drew his opponent's own dagger and stabbed him with it.

Once again something strange happened to the world around Arlen, but he got the feeling it was in his control. The smokiness came back, but this time nothing stopped. Time marched forth as normal. Arlen cocked his head, and reached out toward a wall. As he focused on it and tangibility returned, his hand met it like normal. Then he willed the wall to turn back to smoke and his hand fell through it. With this discovery, Arlen looked through the wall behind him and saw a large throne room, with vampires feeding on corpses at long tables below a regally dressed man on a throne. He walked through the wall, a strange feeling, and emerged much to the surprise and fear of the room full of vampires. Just as they stood, though, they started again and began looking around. Arlen looked at his hand, to confirm a suspicion, and his own eyes widened. It wasn't the usual invisibility he'd experienced from potions or spells; rather he was completely gone. He twisted left as one of the vampires threw a dagger at him, and it stuck in the wall. With that, Arlen moved next to the man who was obviously Lord Harkon, and reappeared.

"Good evening, Lord Harkon." And Arlen bowed. He saw Harkon's foot coming up before it did, and he rolled to the right of the kick. Surprisingly, behind Harkon's throne, he saw his confiscated Bag and Mehrunes' Razor. He picked the belt up and slung it around his waist, drawing the Razor in tandem with the motion. He put a hand up toward the nearest vampire, shouting "wait!", and buckled his belt. Surprisingly enough, the vampire stopped, confused and still alarmed, before Harkon shouted to continue. By that time, though, Arlen's belt was buckled and secured properly, and he neatly parried the vampire's attack and stabbed him in the neck. He fell over, but suddenly twitched and started to stand again, laughing horrifyingly.

"What-" but before Arlen could say anything more, someone dropped onto him from above.

* * *

Arlen woke up again. This time he was unbound, still armed, and saw Lord Harkon pacing in front of him. As soon as his eyes opened, Harkon spoke.

"So, you're a more powerful vampire than any here. And perhaps comparable to myself. It's odd, but I get the feeling I've seen this somewhere before. The vampire died, though, before he could reach his full potential. First of all, you need to know how you can be killed. If you're in the sun, anything. You'll be weaker, more exhausted, and most importantly your blood magics will be unable to correct your wounds, and any means can kill you. However, in shadow, indoors, or at night, it's more difficult. For example, the man you tried to kill in my court. You stabbed him in the neck. That doesn't matter. He doesn't care about that. You can only kill a vampire in shadow with one or many of three things, which too limit your blood magics' regenerative ability. First of all, and something you must watch out for, is silver. It works against all undead; ghosts, vampires, draugr. Any otherwise fatal blow from silver will permanently kill you. It also hurts more than even sunlight. Second, magically generated fire will do the trick, if you let it get too far. Third, any magics of light or healing, besides our own blood magics. Besides, just so long as you're in darkness, you'll be free to stand back up from any blow, depending on how quickly your blood magic can save you. Furthermore, the heart is risky. A blow there won't always kill you, but there have been many vampires whose magics have been halted by one.

"The next thing you must know is that feeding is important. If you wish for your blood magic to work, you must have blood. To access it, feed on humanoids. It's as simple as that. And now we get to the exciting part. Experimentation and improvement of your unique vampiric ability." With that, Harkon charged at Arlen. Immediately Arlen became intangible, and Harkon passed right through him. The man had instantly come about, though, and his claws entered Arlen's back and threw him across the room. By the time Arlen came to, Harkon was different. Larger, winged, and black-skinned. He had deep, void-like eyes and massive claws at the end of each hand. He wore a red cape and not much else. This new Harkon hovered just above Arlen, magics swirling in his hands and wings beating steadily. Arlen felt his new wound as it healed, and the difference was like day and night. He sprang to his feet and kicked Harkon in the chest, setting off the flight and sending the vampire reeling backward. As Harkon stood and redoubled his charge, the world around Arlen stopped. Everything stopped, just like before, but nothing became smokey this time. Except-out of Harkon's mouth poured a familiar black and red smoke, which formed itself into the posh form of Sithis right next to Arlen.

"He's going to hit you again."

"Yes."

"And you'll let him?"

"I don't have control. Things just happen."

"You do have control. Your reflexes know when you need to use an ability, and it happens. Now you need to tell your reflexes. You need to take control."

"Alright."

"Now here are some tricks. First of all, using these new abilities tires you out, yes? You've experienced this. You can shadowstep, to others instantly moving somewhere else, you can phase, becoming intangible, you can shift, becoming perfectly unseen. The fatigue of a shadowstep depends on how far you go. Phasing and shifting depend on how long they are, a shift will tire you less per second, as near as I can tell. But this, voidwalking, I call it, to call on me and even enter the Void with your Mother and her children, is much more tiring, and it's a fixed rate. You'll be exhausted when I leave, almost completely. But while I remain, I can tell you things you must know." Sithis faded out, and suddenly appeared on a platform above Arlen and to the left. As he spoke, he walked across thin air to the platform across the way. "First, you can control how much of yourself becomes intangible and invisible. If you need some parts but not others to phase, you can do that. You could let Harkon's claw pass through your chest, but still punch him with a fully-formed solid hand, or stab him. Just miss the heart, it's not his time to die yet." Sithis disappeared again, but then walked out of the floor and up a wall just as if gravity had flipped. "Furthermore, you can do this. Not as smoothly, but if you've noticed that you can alter how much of the world becomes intangible to you, whether when you're phasing or shadowstepping, you could use that to create, effectively, a ladder up any surface, sheer or otherwise. My final lesson for now is this, my favourite; phase through someone, then... rip them apart from within. Goodbye, Arlen. You'll meet Cicero soon. We struck a deal." And Sithis' supernatural smile returned, red eyes glowing from just underneath his hat brim, and the world resumed normality. Arlen found himself almost completely exhausted, but he instantly began to recover.

Harkon barreled into Arlen, hurling him breathless into a corner behind a fountain of blood. "You must fight, Arlen. You simply stand there and take abuse, and eventually your blood magics will fail to a stab to the heart or from silver. We are here to practice your skills, which I've seen of you. Try again." This time, Harkon flitted up and kicked off the wall ten meters above Arlen, dropping down on top of him. Arlen clenched his jaw, and as Harkon neared his face, phased. To his perception, the world around him became smokey and semi-transparent, but to Harkon's eyes he had faded to a cloud of black smoke, which the vampire fell straight through and slammed his face painfully into the ground. Arlen kept his underside inangible, but his torso returned and he punched Harkon in the back of the neck before leaping back and finally drawing his Razor.

Harkon stood, obviously in pain, but stretched his neck with several cracks and smiled. He redoubled his charge, but this time began to fly around, sliding and leaping, keeping Arlen at bay by hurling balls of red draining magic at him. Arlen rolled under several of these, allowed others to pass through him, and finally reached Harkon's rapid form. The Razor dipped to slash behind Harkon's calf, and Arlen shifted to slide between the large vampire's legs. Harkon's claw slammed into the ground where Arlen had disappeared, and Arlen shadowstepped behind him. The world stopped again and became smokey, something that Arlen was familiar with by now. He jumped, sticking his foot in Harkon's back, and allowed it to stick there by willing Harkon's back to solidify. As he straightened his knee and leaped again, his foot came out of Harkon's back at his will, and he stepped on Harkon's still head. Again he leaped off, then left his shadowstep to fall directly onto Harkon's shoulders with the force of a three meter fall and the Razor beneath him. The blade entered Harkon's skull, and Arlen tipped forward, using the Razor handle as a lever to hurl the huge grey form over himself and into a pile of rotted and desiccated corpses. With that, Arlen cleaned Harkon's dark, corrupted blood from his blade and sheathed it, watching the new corpse on the pile. Harkon didn't stir. Arlen raised an eyebrow. He hadn't struck Harkon's heart, and Mehrunes' Razor wasn't silver. No magic had been used on his end, and the sun was not only low, but behind blacked out windows and thick stone walls. After several minutes, Arlen took three steps forward, cocked his head at Harkon, and started when the huge vampire suddenly pushed to his knees. His wounds had healed, and he began to shrink back to the humanoid form he was before the transformation.

With laboured breath, Harkon spoke. "I... accept you in... into the court of Volkihar, as a master Vampire."

"Ooooh, Listener! I knew you'd beat him eventually! And now we have these undead at our backs!" Arlen instinctively rolled away from the voice, drawing the Razor, but it followed him, drifting over a strange wind.

"What?" Harkon looked at Arlen, alarmed and confused.

"Did you not hear that... Cicero?"

"Who is Cicero?"

"He cannot hear poor, silent Cicero, Listener... but you can. You can see me, too." And with that, Cicero blinked into view. But he wasn't Cicero. He was a humanoid shape of absence, with only red eyes glowing out of it. "I am a void spectre now; gracious Mother and Dread Father allowed Cicero to return and to help the Listener. He possesses the same powers you do, except Cicero doesn't use them... I _am_ them! Completely unseen by all in darkness, pass through any and everything, or not, but cannot shadowstep as you can. Cicero possesses no further knowledge of pain or fatigue, unless he takes someone's body, but that's just for fun!"

"Child! What are you looking at?"

Arlen turned to Harkon, rolled his eyes, and shifted.

"So, you're here permanently?" Arlen asked Cicero.

"Forever, Listener." Cicero and Arlen clasped forearms, and Arlen shifted back into view.

Arlen turned back to Harkon. "If you weren't so afraid of the light, I'd introduce you to the fool you had killed, Cicero. He's my spectre now."

Harkon turned to where Arlen gestured, and started. "I... I can see him, but only when I focus. I could... I can look _through_ him. Arlen... what terrors you have hidden away." Harkon smiled at that, then turned and opened the massive double doors at the end of the hall. They opened directly over the court, and Harkon leaped over the railing and took his throne. "My friends, my family. Here is Arlen, Master Vampire, and his spectre Cicero. See him if you'd like, but I warn you it's not easy." With that, the room full of vampires searched, confused, everywhere around Arlen. None seemed to find the spectre.

"With friends like these, Cicero, Skyrim could be ours."


End file.
